


Bring Me to Life

by MissForeverRebel



Category: Backstreet Boys
Genre: Kidnapping, Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 15:10:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20084272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissForeverRebel/pseuds/MissForeverRebel
Summary: Wake me up insideCall my name and save me from the darkBid my blood to runBefore I come undoneSave me from the nothing I've become◾️◾️◾️◾️◾️Within one moment, Nick’s world was turned upside down and life as he knew it shattered.





	1. Prologue

**[NOW]**

12...the number of months that are in a year.

52...the number of weeks that are in a year.

365...the number of days that are in a year.

8,760...the number of hours that are in a year.

525,600...the number of minutes that are in a year.

31,536,000...the number of seconds that are in a year.

1...the number of moments it took to destroy my life as I knew it.

1...the number of moments it took to make me question everything I had always thought I knew.

1...the number of moments it took for me to lose myself.

My mind filed through the set of numbers once again. Sometimes I was methodical in my habit, while other times I preferred a more analytical approach. And then there were times I couldn't find enough ways to break the numbers down further.

Dr. Sheffield suggested it was my mind's way of protecting myself to keep the connection with my "safe space" in tact. She encouraged it, too, reminding me that so long as I was able to continue to file the numbers in order, I would remain grounded in the truth that I was safe now.

Safe, protected from or not exposed to danger or risk; not likely to be harmed or lost.

Safe.

_'You'll never be safe again.'_

I wasn't sure what that word meant anymore. Not really. That's because safe was nothing more than a relative word, relative to the world around you and trust me when I say that the world doesn't give a flying fuck whether you are safe or not.

_'The world doesn't give two shits about you. It never has.'_

12...the number of months that are in a year.

52...the number of weeks that are in a year.

"Nick."

Closing my eyes with a quiet sigh, I leaned forward and rested my forehead against the cool glass of the window pane that was being pelted with rain on the outside.

The weather had taken a dreary turn days ago and didn't show any signs of improving, except for the occasional dry spell accompanying the ashen clouds over head. The cool reprieve it brought, while nice, was a depressing reminder of how empty I felt on the inside. Part of me missed the sun on the days it hid, and yet part of me was glad it stayed away because it made it that much easier to hide away from the world.

_'You'll never be able to hide from me, Nicky boy.'_

12...the number of-

"Nick, listen to the sound of my voice. Turn around."

Pursing my lips tightly together to keep my anxiety locked securely away in the metaphorical box I'd created inside my head, I focused in on the soothing tones of the familiar voice calling out to me and gradually did as I was told.

My movements were slow, as they often were these days, but by the time my back was finally to the window, I had managed to calm my breathing to a repetitive pattern of inhales and exhales. And so, I focused my attention on Dr. Sheffield where she sat across the room, watching me patiently.

"I'm sorry..." I responded with a whisper.

Her warm smile told me I had nothing to be sorry about and I knew she would sit there quietly waiting for me as long as I needed her to—she had established that promise from the moment she came into my life—but shame told me another story. Shame, my constant companion that cradled me at night when the demons came out to play, told me a completely different story.

"What are you sorry for, Nick?" Dr. Sheffield asked. Her voice was inviting and sweet like honey, and her eyes were a softest blue of the bluest skies that radiated her caring nature. Dr. Sheffield had seen many years of experience, but there was just something about the way she carried herself that spoke truth to her caring nature. She made you want to trust her and sometimes in the most vulnerable of moments when I was screaming on the inside for the pain to go away, I believed maybe I could.

"I..."

My mouth opened to give an answer I wasn't prepared to give. And then I found myself sighing again and avoiding Dr. Sheffield's stare as I ran a nervous hand through my disheveled hair. Why? Embarrassment mostly because these days my mind had become so muddled, I had a hard time sorting through my thoughts to even speak comprehensively.

Dr. Sheffield offered me a gentle smile and motioned to the chair across from her. "How about you come sit down. There's no rush to talk about anything until you are ready."

Sometimes I felt like I was wasting the psychiatrist's time; this was standard for the start of our sessions, but it hadn't always been this way. When I first became a patient of Dr. Sheffield's, I couldn't even look her in the eyes, let alone much of anyone for that matter. And I had been practically all but catatonic, which is how I ended up where I was. Apparently I didn't speak a single word for weeks, though the early days of my treatment were a blur, one big cluster fuck of me drowning silently within my own head. I couldn't separate fact from fiction, the past from the present, or fantasy from reality.

Blinking, I found myself already sitting across from Dr. Sheffield. It wasn't unusual that I lost short periods of time still. A moment here, a moment there. At least it wasn't hours like it used to be. I was taught to celebrate the little successes, something that was inherently good for someone like me. Dr. Sheffield said it was the little successes that mattered the most. It meant that I hadn't given up. It meant that I was still breathing, still alive. Even the set backs weren't to be frowned upon.

_'Keep telling yourself that, pretty boy. You're nothing but a failure and failures don't succeed.'_

Dr. Sheffield regained my attention with a gentle touch to the arm. I flinched just noticeably as I looked at her, then felt the heat ignite in my cheeks.

"Sorry," I said again.

"You seem distracted today, Nick," Dr. Sheffield noted with an understanding smile. She folded her hands on her lap. "More than usual."

"I, uh..." I frowned, rubbing my hands over my face to give myself a chance to gather my thoughts. "I didn't sleep well last night. My head's been killing me."

Dr. Sheffield's head tilted slightly to the side, almost as if she already knew the answer to her next question. "Have the nightmares been keeping you up at night again?"

"...Every night," I admitted just above a whisper.

I wouldn't tell her, but last night had been the worst of the nightmares in a long while. Even now, the rapid succession of images that flashed through my mind were still so vivid, the sounds deafening, the smells nauseating, and the pain so incredibly real, that my body ached. It took all I had not to curl up in a corner until the world no longer existed.

_'I'm coming for you.'_

12...the number of months in a year.

52...the number of weeks in a year.

365...the number of-

I snapped back to reality as Dr. Sheffield called out to me. The voice that was taunting me faded away and I could feel my pulse returning to a calmer, more relaxed rhythm, enough that I was able to focus my attention on the psychiatrist. "It's Sunday."

Dr. Sheffield nodded. "It is," she acknowledged. "How does that make you feel, Nick?"

I inhaled deeply, considering her question. How did it make me feel knowing today marked one year since my life had been stolen from me? That every bit of what made me me had been shattered? The truth was, I didn't really know how to feel. Numb? Sick? Afraid that when I finally chose to leave this place I would be thrust right back into the Hell that had brought me here? It was all of those, really, but there wasn't enough words in the world to accurately describe just how I was feeling. So, I settled for the first word that had came to mind.

"Numb. I feel...I feel numb."

"And do you recognize 'numb' as a feeling or as a state of being?"

"Right now?" I heard myself chuckle. "I don't know which is worse. You tell me, doc."

Dr. Sheffield shifted in her seat and spoke softly. "You know I can't do that."

I stared down at my hands, studying the callouses on my fingertips before I gradually rose to my feet once more when the silence began to weigh on me. Moving back over to my former position at the window, I focused my gaze out on the dreary landscape and allowed a finger to trace the path of a droplet of rain. Down, down, down it went until it breached the barrier of the window pane and disappeared.

"He still talks to me," I mumbled after another few moments of silence had passed and I trusted myself to admit the fact.

"Bart?" Dr. Sheffield clarified.

The name left the bitter taste of bile rising up my throat. I had to silently will my stomach to settle as I nodded in confirmation. "Yeah."

"Is Bart talking to you right now, Nick?"

I allowed my eyes to shut, forehead pressed once more to the cool glass surface of the window. "...He was a moment ago."

Dr. Sheffield stood from her chair and made her way across the room to join me at the window. "He's not out there. He can't hurt you anymore."

There was a part, deep inside me, that wanted so desperately to believe Dr. Sheffield. After all, she had spent the better part of the past year teaching me that I would eventually be able to step outside and believe what she told me. But first I had to learn to confront the demons that were plaguing me, demons that **_he_** brought into my life.

I had to learn to confront **_him_** and take back control of my life.

Straightening my posture, I slowly turned to Dr. Sheffield, ignoring the haunting cackle that echoed in my head. "I'm ready to talk."

Dr. Sheffield's smile was patient and encouraging.

It was time to start living.


	2. Chapter 1

**[Then]**

_The sound of the rain pelting the roof of my SUV was like a soothing lullaby, a dangerous thing considering how utterly exhausted I had become. I was running on fumes by that point, less than 8 hours sleep spanning the course of three days._

_Exhausted really didn't even begin to describe just how run down I actually felt. But it came with the territory and work had kept me away from Lauren and Odin for nearly two weeks. Wrecked is more like how I was feeling. And then there was the sinus infection that had been causing me Hell since before I left home. Truth was, I should have stopped hours ago for a proper night of rest, but I was too anxious to get home. The unexpected onslaught of rain that was making my travels a pain in the ass was just something to be dealt with._

_Besides, I'd gone far longer without enough sleep in the past. The hay day of my career as a Backstreet Boy had been based off of just how long I could go without sleep, much to the chagrin of my fellow band members. Of course, I'd been quite a bit younger then and there were a few less aches and pains that troubled my body on a daily basis._

_Point was, I just wanted to get home. I wanted to hold my son in my arms and make up for lost time, and then I wanted to take a long hot shower and climb into bed with my beautiful wife and, well, you get the point..._

_Smirking to myself, I reached forward to lower the volume of the satellite radio station I was currently listening to and connect a call to Lauren, just to check in and maybe it was due to the fact that I wanted to hear her voice more than anything else. However, just as my finger hovered over the touch screen on the dash, Lauren's name and number popped up unexpectedly. I accepted the call without hesitation, grinning as I settled back into the driver's seat._

_"What's up sexy mama?" I greeted her._

_I could hear her barely withheld laughter. "I could ask you the same," she responded, her tone obvious that she was just as anxious to see me as I was to see her. "Where are you?"_

_"Sorry, babe. I'm still a good seven-ish hours out," I explained to her as I adjusted the speed of the windshield wipers. I had to squint just to see somewhat clearly through the rain. Then there was the fact that I had shitty night vision, about as shitty as it came."I just wish I was home already. It's been a Hell of a two weeks and I'm exhausted. This rain is killer, too."_

_"You sounds like Hell, Nick," Lauren told me pointedly. She worried enough for the both of us, but I appreciated her for it. "Why haven't you gotten a room somewhere so you can sleep?"_

_"I just want to get home to you and Odin. I was hoping to be there when he wakes up in the morning," I casually explained. The corner of my mouth curled upward and I allowed my tone to become a little more mischievous. "Plus, there's this super sexy woman waiting in my bed for me to come have my way with her. What kinda man would I be if I kept her waiting?"_

_"Probably a dead one because you fell asleep behind the wheel," Lauren chided me in return. It didn't take much imagination to know she was rolling her eyes towards my playful antics. "I'm serious, babe. Just stop driving for the night. Get some rest. Odin and I want you home in one piece."_

_Sighing, I relented to my wife's suggestion. "I would kill for a good night's sleep right about now," I admitted, but I knew that wouldn't be happening any time soon. Not on this stretch of back roads highway I was navigating. It'd been a long while since I'd passed through the last town that offered lodging options. "Honestly, I think I may just pull over to the side of the road here in a bit and catch a couple hours while this rain blows through. Hopefully wait it out."_

_"I'd feel better knowing you weren't out driving in it," Lauren agreed._

_"You and me both," I mumbled in return. Frowning as the rain seemed to fall harder, I began to notice the golden yellow pings of hazard lights flashing through the dark up ahead in the distance. As I drew closer, I could see the outline of a tall individual stepping out onto the roadway, arms raised in the air and waving. "Hey, baby, let me call you back here in a few."_

_Lauren took notice of the change in my voice. "Is something wrong?"_

_"No, nothing's wrong," I assured her as I began to slow my vehicle. "I'll call you back shortly."_

_Returning the sentiment as Lauren told me she loved me, I disconnected the call and brought the SUV to a slow rolling stop just as I came upon the stalled vehicle with the flashing hazard lights on the side of the road. I watched with natural apprehension as the individual I'd seen standing in the road approached my side of the SUV and I rolled the driver's window down part way._

_"Car trouble?" I asked, taking in the man's appearance._

_It was hard to see his face with the way the bill of his cap hung low over his eyes, creating a concealing drop shadow. But I could see the disheveled dark brown beard that clearly could benefit from some tending to. It flowed around his thick face, trailing down his chin and along the upper portion of his neck. His stature was stalky and his shoulders squared as he leaned in closer to the SUV._

_"Yeah, damn piece of shit just quit runnin' on me," he drawled, voice thick with accent. I had to stop myself from grimacing as the smell of liquor on his breath wafted through the air towards me. "Ain't seen no one on this stretch of road in an hour. Phone's dead; couldn't call for help. You wouldn't happen to have a flash light I could use to take a look under the hood, would ya?"_

_"Uh..." Continuing to look at the guy, something told me to tell him no and offer to call someone for him instead, but I found myself nodding before I could stop myself. "Yeah, I believe I do. Hold on."_

_He stepped away from the driver's door and I carefully placed the SUV into reverse to bring it onto the side of the road behind his vehicle. Placing it into park, I opened the door and climbed out into the onslaught of rain with a grimace._

_I held my hand out to him to be polite. "Nick."_

_He gripped my hand tightly, a little tighter than I had been expecting, and shook it. "Bart."_

_"Man, this rain, right?" I mentioned as I hurried to the back of the SUV and lifted the tailgate._

_"Yeah, some storm," I barely heard him answer._

_"I've got a flash light in here somewhere," I told him, lifting the carpeted flap to dig into the spare tire compartment where I kept a few useful tools. "I've got cables in case you just need a jump. I'll be honest, though...I'm not much of a mechanic."_

_The man gruffed his acknowledgement of my statement and I could only assume he felt the same about himself. Finding what I was looking for, I backed out of the compartment with the black metal shaft of the flash light gripped in my hand._

_"Let's take a look," I told him and motioned for him to lead the way. He stiffly stepped away from me without a word and though I found it a bit odd, I followed after him, hoping to help him figure out the problem quickly so I could get out of the rain and get back on my way._

_Following him around to the front of his vehicle, I waited for him to pop the hood and then stepped forward to give the parts a look, not that I really knew what I was looking for. Mechanics had never been much of an interest of mine. Everything looked as I figured it should, albeit just as old and dirty as the rest of the car. And then I saw it. The cover to the car's battery was missing and the connections had come loose._

_"There's your problem," I told him, reaching in to fiddle with the connections. "Battery connection came loose. Car wasn't getting enough power."_

_"Huh, imagine that," the man drawled again._

_Finishing what I was doing, I backed out from under the hood. "Should be good to go now. Might want to get it into a shop, though. Get the battery and connections looked at," I told him as I turned the flash light off._

_"I'll keep that in mind," he answered with a grin in my direction. "Thanks."_

_"No problem," I nodded shortly and turned to return to my own vehicle. I wanted nothing more than to get out of the rain that had already managed to seep completely through the multiple layers of clothing I wore and catching a few hours of sleep somewhere up the road was starting to sound a lot more appealing._

_Placing the flash light back in the spare tire compartment, I secured the carpeted flap in place and started to back away. Then, a bright white light flashed before my eyes as pain exploded through out my head. I didn't even have time to considered what the hard object was that had connected with the back of my head because the world around me faded to black before I hit the cold, wet ground._

◾️◾️◾️◾️◾️

**[NOW]**

I blinked to clear my vision and subconsciously reached up to gingerly touch the back of my head, as if I was expecting to find a bloody open wound waiting for me. There was nothing though. The wound had healed completely months ago and my hair had grown back into place to hide the scar. It was as if there had never been a wound there to begin with.

But I knew better. Sometimes to this day when the headaches were at their worst, I couldn't even lay in bed with the back of my head resting against the pillow. Those were some of the times when I was certain without a doubt that I was still stuck in my living nightmare and I'd be afraid to even open my eyes.

The feel of Dr. Sheffield's hand against my own as she lowered my intrusive fingers away from prodding the back of my head worked to clear my mind enough that I trusted myself to pry my eyes open, unaware that I had even closed them in the first place.

"Sorry," I mumbled, my cheeks igniting a faint crimson from embarrassment. "Bad habit, I guess."

"Bad habits are hard to die," Dr. Sheffield offered. She smiled, gently squeezing my hand before releasing it. "The trick is to replace those bad habits with good ones."

I nodded to show her I understood, but developing good habits weren't exactly my forte right then.

Trying to relax as the memory faded, I focused my attention in front of us, out at the rained drenched landscape that expanded for miles beyond what I could actually see. Mist arose from the ground, blanketing the earth and a cool breeze tussled the air around us. Dr. Sheffield had suggested we take our conversation outside; I needed to allow myself more fresh air, she constantly told me. It had taken me a while to agree, but I finally relented to allow her to move us out to the back porch of the facility, under the protective cover of the over hang.

The fresh open air felt good for my lungs—that much I could admit. It wasn't the first time Dr. Sheffield had taken me outside. The effort had taken months to achieve to get me to the point where I allowed the change in scenery on occasion, especially when the nightmares became particularly rough on me mentally and physically. I never once ventured past the safety of the over hang, though, rain or shine.

Dr. Sheffield referred to it as a barrier I would one day need to overcome, but seemed comfortable enough allowing me the sense of security it brought.

Slouching forward on the porch swing we had claimed for our outing, I raised the cup of coffee I was holding to my lips and swallowed a small sip. Dr. Sheffield had made it specifically, using lavender and honey undertones. It had cooled significantly but was still soothing to my throat.

"...I just wanted to get home to them," I heard myself saying a few moments later, my gaze still fixated on the landscape.

There was a swing set nearby for patients to use during family visitations, at least for the patients who had children that came to visit, and I would find myself staring longingly at it with the thought that Odin would have loved it...if ever I allowed Lauren to bring him to see me. Although, I couldn't even bring myself to face Lauren either and most days, just hearing her patient and loving voice over the phone broke me further. And Odin, the one thing in my life I had been most proud of...I couldn't even bear the thought of hearing his voice.

I was pretty sure Lauren was starting to resent me for it, too. And she should. I had let my wife and son down, failed them in the worst way possible. Now I couldn't even get myself to face them.

"You can still make it home to your wife and son, Nick," Dr. Sheffield told me. She was sitting sideways on the porch swing to keep a careful eye on me and in that moment I couldn't face her either.

"I don't know how," I answered with a defeated shake of my head. "I...I don't know if I can."

Dr. Sheffield considered my statement before she spoke again. "Why do you feel that you can't go home?"

Creases of stress formed across my forehead. "Because...I'm not me anymore."

"If you're not you anymore, then...who are you?"

_'You're mine. You will always be mine.'_

I shook my head sharply as the voice taunted me and nearly lost my grip on the cup of coffee. My stomach rolled, causing me to shut my eyes tightly.

"**_No_**," my teeth clenched as I whispered.

Dr. Sheffield's hand came to rest on my back, her gentle touch coaxing me back into the present until I was able to push the taunting voice out of my head. "You will always be you, Nick," she told me. I welcomed the warm sounds of her voice. "You just have to find yourself again. Only you can do that though. Nobody else can do it for you. And when you do, I think you will realize you haven't been as lost as you have thought all along."

Was it really that simple? How could it be? I didn't just feel lost--I felt irrepairable. Having to pick up the pieces that had shattered on the ground long ago was more daunting a task than confronting what had broken me in the first place. And the thought of it tore me further and further away from my family. I wasn't who they thought I was. I couldn't be.

Not like I used to be at the very least. I think there was a part of me that appreciated Lauren's persistence to get through to me, but she didn't understand that I was no longer the man that she had met, fell in love with, and married. I wasn't the same man that had helped to create our beautiful son. I was no longer the same man that thought he could take on the world because I believed I was unbreakable.

I was no longer the Nick she wanted me to be. But Lauren just didn't understand that and I couldn't expect her to. Nor could I explain it to her either. I couldn't explain to her understand the 'whys' when I was too ashamed to tell her the 'hows'. I couldn't convey how utterly shattered and terrified I was of continuing to let her and Odin down.

How was I expected to face my wife and tell her everything when I couldn't even bear to face my own reflection in the mirror and admit to myself that I was okay with not being okay and eventually I would get better? That I deserved to get better?

But Dr. Sheffield was right...

...I had to find myself again.


End file.
